


Not very Necromantic

by McLavellan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Necromancy, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 03:57:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21237788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McLavellan/pseuds/McLavellan
Summary: An innocent love sends Dorian reeling. His emotions lead to some drastic ideas.Gift fic for Fic or treat 2019!I hope it doesn't disappoint.Many thanks to cullenlovesmen for the beta read!





	Not very Necromantic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dismalzelenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/gifts).

As with most things Dorian did, it had started on a whim. If he wasn't going to cheat his way out of chess, he'd at least make it interesting. And so, with every piece taken, the victor was to ask the question of his choice to be answered truthfully.

The first game had been quite the thing. Questions on likes and dislikes from books to the bedroom, resulting in a wild and passionate night in the Commander's Tower.

But a few games later, the questions became rather serious. Cullen, not wanting to know how many lovers Dorian had in the past, asked instead if he had ever been in love.

"If I have, it was unrequited and very disappointing. That time, at least," he answered, shooting only the smallest look to Cullen, an admission that he was quite well and truly in love now and hoped the feeling was mutual.

When it came to his turn to question, however, he didn't want to be answered, lest he be disappointed, and he didn't want to know with whom he might be competing for the commanders full affection. So he enquired to the number of lovers and found himself crushed all the same.

"Not many," the commander admitted, and without shame. Many soldiers liked to brag about conquests but Cullen was a modest man with modest taste. Dorian was quite a change from the norm but Cullen enjoyed peeling off the layers of complex patterns and silk to the simple, beautiful core beneath. The man who was firm in his beliefs and loved more passionately than his heart could handle. Dorian was somehow strong and yet fragile under the frivolity of what he projected. 

"I'm not sure that counts as an answer," Dorian sighed, crossing his legs as he sat back. 

"I've shared my bed - or… Moments, rather - with a handful of people. But I suppose only one could ever have been classed as a lover. And, truth be told, that was only a kiss."

The legs uncrossed and Dorian sat forward again, a confused frown on his face. "You had one lover and you never made love?" 

Cullen was beginning to regret his answer, though not as much as Dorian would soon regret the question. 

"She was the only person I would have considered wanting to be with. Back in the Circle, even a kiss was a huge risk. Can we move on? I'm pretty sure I’ve got you beat."

But Dorian, a masochist by nature and not by choice, insisted. "The Circle? A templar or mage?" 

"Mage. Take your turn."

"And here I thought I was your first. You certainly acted like you were going above and beyond to associate with a lowly mage."

"Dorian. Your turn."

"My turn? To be fooled into believing the Commander has overcome his own fears and haunted past that he could fuck someone like me?" 

Cullen stood up, biting back his angered response until Dorian sulked and told him, "Oh yes, go on, run away."

That had done it. 

"Amell was before all that. She was… She- I-" It took a few deep breaths, during which Dorian seemed to realise Cullen had once had the hots for the Hero of Ferelden. The woman who had sacrificed herself to end the Fifth Blight. And, indeed, would have known Cullen before the events that had scarred him so badly. 

But, being Dorian, he couldn't admit to his shame or defeat. So he stood up, straightened himself out and snapped "Well. How could I possibly compare to her." 

They didn't speak for the next two days, or long after as Dorian followed the Inquisitor into the corpse-filled marshes of some dingy pit of the larger cold and miserable marshland that was Ferelden. Not even secretly stolen bottles of local ale calmed his temper. The thought that Cullen had been besotted with a legend. Had risked so much for a simple kiss. A kiss that meant more to him than even the best lay in the years before and that followed. 

Well, he decided in a drunken frenzy, why not bring her back to him. Dig up her corpse or seek out her soul out of the fade. Why not reunite the lover birds. Hadn’t he promised Cullen all the happiness in Thedas? 

He avoided Cullen upon his return, took the books he wanted to the Iron Bull's chamber, less likely to be disturbed until the Bull had a lover and needed the space come evening.   
He found himself one night too tired to go further than the steps down to the Inn and sat in a quiet corner of the upper levels, researching more about the Warden, her burial place, and her past. 

"He seeks to unbury the past, bring a storm of hate. Easier to part that way. Less broken. Anger not sadness."

Dorian would have screamed if not for the papers held between his teeth as he organised his space. 

"Cole! Don't creep up on people! Especially dangerous people."

"What are you doing?" the boy asked. "Bringing her back won't help anyone."

Dorian threw his quill down and scowled. "Why ask what I'm doing if you already think you know?" 

The boy-spirit combo didn't answer, at least not in a way Dorian was content to listen to, and disappeared when he was waved away by Dorian's fine bejewelled hand. 

Thinking that was the end of it, the not-so-evil Vint began to question his evil plan. What did he hope for? To ask her questions? To throw her in Cullen's face and seek to see how deeply the man's heart broke? And how deeply that would break his own? 

"Everyone's worried about you, you know? Perhaps me more than any of them?" 

Why Cullen's voice made Dorian's eyes prick with tears, he didn't know. But all the more reason to stare down at his work. 

"Dorian, you asked me a question and I answered it. I'm sorry it’s not the answer you expected but-" 

"I expected a number, not an Orlesian tragedy!" 

Cullen was smirking as he sat down across from Dorian and placed the two ales between them.   
"I was young, she was always a kind girl, headstrong, complex. A lot like you in some ways. But she's not you and you are not her. And hopefully I'm not some poor replacement for a past love of yours?" 

"Hardly. I was in Tevinter. There's nobody like you in Tevinter. At least not in my circles. Or staff."

Cullen wasn't going to question any of that. Instead, he gave the papers between them a worried glance. "So what's the purpose of all this?" he asked. 

"I don't know," Dorian sighed. "To make myself angry, perhaps. To enrage you…. When I…. Summoned her." He was blushing now and would have thanked the low light, but Cullen would have heard the shame in his voice. 

"That… Seems a little extreme. I don't know if I'm flattered. A bit disturbed, to be honest." The Commander took a swig of his ale and picked up a sheet, expression softening, though not completely sad. If anything, fondness radiated. "She was an incredible person, but not the love of my life. The love of my life probably knows more about Nevarran rites of the dead than he does the Ferelden traditions of honouring our dead. Which, coincidently, take place in tomorrow."

Still pouting, Dorian fingered the rim of his drink and muttered, "Oh?" 

Neither had managed eye contact yet, though Cullen had tried a few times. Dorian acted like a peacock but in truth he was a deer. It took time and patience to bring him close. And also more than a little forgiveness. The man had been taught to check his emotions and swallow them, never how to truly cope with or express them. As much as it hurt Cullen to think of the past, it was the present he wanted. And that needed fixing. 

"We honour the dead in the day with the harvest and offerings. By night it is said they visit us in return to bless the next one. But evil spirits linger too, so we disguise ourselves as demons and monsters so that we are left in peace. We carve out vegetables too," he finished with a laugh, as Dorian's face had lifted, half laughing itself in bewilderment. 

"I suppose I should dress as an envy demon?" Dorian said, by way of an apology. 

"Don't you always?" 

The sound of their laughter wasn't enough to drown out the creaking and thudding of Bull’s bed above them, but they barely noticed as they sat, arms around one another, sharing tales of their customs and finally giving in to kissing. 

As much as "decorating vegetables" was intruiging, Dorian was going to look very forward to surprising Cullen with a 10 scarf dance and his costume as the Tevinter tradition of Lust Sorcery. What an educational night it would be.


End file.
